Morning Light

The police had come and gone. The statement was given. A restraining order was filed. The ambulance had patched Bram’s shoulder—just a deep bruise, nothing broken—but he had refused to go to the hospital.

Now, the sun was rising. The storm had scrubbed the sky clean, leaving it a pale, bruised purple.

Elena sat on the porch swing. Bram sat on the steps, his back to her. He had his hood up again.

"I'm sorry about the wall," Bram said quietly.

"I'm not," Elena replied. She held out a mug of coffee. "Here."

Bram hesitated, then reached back to take it. His large hand brushed hers. He didn't pull away this time.

"I lost my family," he said, the words falling into the quiet morning. "Five years ago. House fire. I got my daughter out, but... I couldn't get back in for my wife. The beams came down."

Elena felt a lump in her throat. "I was driving. We were arguing about the venue for the wedding. I looked away for one second. The truck jackknifed. Marcus... he isn't wrong. I survived."

"Surviving isn't a crime, Elena," Bram said.

He turned around slowly. He looked at her. He didn't lower the hood, but he looked her in the eye.

Elena stood up. She walked down the two steps until she was standing in front of him. Slowly, she reached out. Her hand trembled, but she forced it steady.

She pulled his hood down.

Bram flinched, his eyes darting to the side, waiting for her revulsion.

Elena traced the line of the burn scar on his cheek with her thumb. It was rough, warm. Real.

"We aren't monsters, Bram," she whispered.

She took his hand and placed it on her own cheek, right over the jagged scar that ran from her eye to her jaw.

Bram’s touch was impossibly gentle. His thumb brushed the raised skin, his eyes softening. For the first time in years, Elena didn't want to pull away. She didn't want to hide.

"No," Bram agreed, his voice rough with emotion. "We're just broken."

"Broken things can be fixed," Elena said.

She sat down next to him on the step. Their shoulders touched. The gap between them—the wall, the fear, the silence—was gone.

They sat there as the sun cleared the horizon, illuminating the shared porch, watching the light hit the patch of roses Bram had tended so carefully in the dark. One of them, against all odds, was beginning to bloom.